


Yondu Week 2019

by LoveisYonduBlue



Series: Yondu Week [1]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-04-24 09:22:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19170379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveisYonduBlue/pseuds/LoveisYonduBlue
Summary: June 10-16 was dubbed "Yondu Week 2019," at least on Tumblr. We were given various prompts for each day, and here are my entries.Just as a side note, all of these take place take place in the universe as my other fics, "Loyalty" and the "Vital" series.





	1. Day 1: Hobbies | Work

Stakar has given the crew a few day’s off after a string of successful missions, and Yondu looks a little lost at the concept. He’s been following his Captain around like a lost duckling, and it’s start to drive Stakar crazy. He turns to the Centaurian. "Maybe you should get a hobby, Yondu."

"A - a  _what?"_

"A hobby. You know, something you enjoy doing, something you do to relax in the time when you're not working."

Yondu cocks his head. Not working? He’s always working. Always doing chores, always on missions, always fighting, always training his mind and body. When he’s not working, he’s on break. “Something…like drinking?"

Stakar bursts out laughing and Yondu isn't sure why. "Hahaha, no, not drinking. Drinking is not a hobby."

"Then...then what?" 

Stakar opens his mouth and spreads his hands. "Like...hmm..." He covers his mouth with one hand, thinking. "Well, why don't you walk around the ship and see what the others are up to? To get some ideas."

Yondu does so.

His path takes him to the firing range, where he finds Aleta cleaning and assembling and disassembling blasters and other such weapons before peevishly discharging them into the targets along the back wall. Yondu pauses there for a moment, watching her, but he shakes his head. Guns have never been a favorite. He’s experienced enough blasterfire to last him a lifetime. _‘Sides,_ he thinks, turning back into the hall, _‘Leta don’t look real relaxed doin’ that._

From there, he heads to one of the quiet rooms Krugarr frequents. He finds the sorcerer there, arms resting comfortably atop the coils of his tail, his fingertips pressed lightly together. He doesn’t move, and his eyes are closed; but Yondu knows that Krugarr is not asleep; he can feel a hum in the air and see little hazy sparkles of gold light flit around the sorcerer’s body from time to time. _Don’t know what he’s doin’, but it’s probably some kind a’ meditation or magic practice…ain’t fer me either._

He continues down a hallway, thinking about what he likes to do. He likes going on missions, but there’s no missions for a while, that’s the whole point of this ‘day off’ thing. He likes drinking, but Stakar said that wasn’t a hobby. He likes sex, but there’s no bots on the ship, and none of the crew tickles his fancy either. _Damn, this is harder than I thought._

Sudden gales of booming laughter from a room nearby attract his attention. Its infectious sound makes him smile in spite of himself. _Charlie._ The shriller, younger laughter of Tullk reaches his ears too, and as he grows closer to the room, he can hear the staticky buzzing chortles of Mainframe. He sticks his head around the door, and sees they’re watching videos on the holonet – videos of animals doing un-animal things.

Charlie showed him a few of those once. Yondu conceded that the fuzzy, clawed animals with the big eyes were cute, but he doesn’t get the humor behind it. He sighs, then straightens up. _Marty. Maybe he’s got somethin’._

The First Mate’s door is wide open, as usual, and he peeks inside. There are books _everywhere_. Lining every shelf; stacked on top of the table, the dresser, the desk; stuffed in drawers, and tumbling out from underneath neatly folded piles of clean, mended laundry.

Martinex himself is swinging in a little canvas hammock in the corner, a stack of books as tall as Yondu piled at his side. He’s got one arm behind his head, scanning the page of a book resting on one drawn-up knee. He turns what looks to be the last page and closes the cover, Tossing the novel carefully down onto a second pile of books as high as Yondu’s knee. He picks another from the taller stack and opens it, turning to the first page.

Yondu’s shoulders droop. He can’t read. At least, not very well. Martinex has been teaching him a little here and there, but he certainly can’t read a full book, and he doesn’t want to bother the First Mate when he seems so content. Disappointed, he turns away, leaving Martinex to his books.

 _Damn, I can’t think a’ anything worth doin’ right now._ He’s feeling pretty down and unsatisfied as he trudges through the ship. He’s thinking he might just find a bottle somewhere and drink anyway, when down the corridor he sees the fleeting figure of Stakar. He cocks his head. Strange for the Captain to be all the way over here; this is a normally empty sector, used for storage. Curious, Yondu picks up his pace and quietly follows him. He glimpses Stakar around the corner, poised at the bottom of a skinny ladder at the end of a dim hallway. The Captain looks around, as if ensuring that he's alone, then ascends and opens a hatch at the top of the ladder, which he closes behind him.

Yondu approaches the ladder and peers up it. The paint is worn down in the middle where boots have tread on it, but it's otherwise unremarkable. Hesitantly, he climbs up. He goes to open the hatch, but pauses, and instead softly knocks on its underside.

A few moments later, the wheel turns and the hatch opens. "Yondu?" comes Stakar's surprised voice. "What are - how did you find me?"

Yondu feels his cheeks warm and shrugs a shoulder to try and hide it, averting his eyes. "Followed ya."

"Did you need something?"

"No," Yondu replies. He can't think of anything else to say, and just looks up into Stakar's face.

The Captain's warm brown eyes study him for a moment, then he backs out of view. "Well, c'mon up."

Yondu pulls himself into a small, domed room. The ceiling is entirely made of the same transparent acrylic as all the other windows on the  _Starhawk,_ and the vastness of star-strewn space stretches above him. He looks around at the small enclosure. There's a small mound of cushions and a few crumpled blankets, as well as a small crate of snack foods, and - oddly, gathered together in a small basket lined with faded silk, a few children's toys.

Stakar has one of these toys, a stuffed feline-esque animal, in one hand. Yondu glances at it, then at his Captain's face, and Stakar, half-hides it behind his back, before bringing it out again. "It belonged to John," he says softly, eyes fixed on the floor.

Yondu has a sudden clenching tightness in his throat and chest. He knows that Stakar and Aleta had three children – a son and two daughters – and that they had died; Stakar's mentioned it in confidence a few times. Aleta has never said anything on the matter, and Yondu knows better than to bring it up. He stands there, unsure if he should stay or go, what he should say or if he should stay silent, and trying to figure out what the hell he should do with his hands. He edges towards the hatch again and bends to go down the ladder, but Stakar says, "Wait."

"Huh?"

"Ya don't hafta leave, Yondu. Stay." Stakar spreads out a blanket, resting his head on one of the cushions as he lays on his back, the plush feline on his chest.

Yondu drags a cushion over too and lays a few feet from his Captain, folding his arms behind his head. He glances over at Stakar to see if he's doing - whatever this is - correctly and follows his Captain's eyes upwards. Through the window, he sees nothing but stars and swirling dusty clouds of space debris.

They lay like that in silence for some time. "Is this a hobby?" he asks at last, very softly.

There's a snorting chuckle from Stakar. "Yes, Yondu. Stargazing is a hobby of mine. I find it relaxing."

"Oh." Yondu nods and folds his arms over his chest. At first, he feels edgy, almost itchy - like he should be doing something active. He's just lying there. No talking, no movement, nothing. It's quiet here, with just the constant, sleepy hum of the engines for background noise. After a while, he feels his muscles begin to lose their tension and his mind start to lose some of its anxious edge. He's not in danger; he's not late or due for any chores or jobs; he's safe in the company of his Captain. It's peaceful.  _Peace._  He's heard the word but didn't have anything to associate with it before; he never remembers experiencing a truly peaceful moment. He lets out a silent, contented sigh of breath, watching as a distant comet slowly makes its way across the diamond-speckled blackness. "It's nice," he says, craning his head to look at Stakar.

“Yeah, it is.” Stakar says, glancing over with a smile. His eyes go to the toy basket, and he rocks forward. “Here,” he says, reaching inside.

Yondu leans up on one elbow.

His Captain pulls out a small, solid plastic figurine that seems amphibious in shape. “Ya still have that lil’ knickknack ya got from the shop on Peregg? The ball?”

Yondu nods, and Stakar hands him the figurine. A smile can’t help but tug at the corner of his mouth at the goofy shape.

“Ya like it?”

Yondu nods.

“Then ya can add it to yer collection. Put it with the ball.”

The Centaurian’s head snaps up. “But- but I can’t. It belonged to- it was-”

“It was John’s, yes. But I think he’d want it to be appreciated, not gathering dust up here. Keep it. That collection can be your hobby, if you want.” Considering that the final say, Stakar lays back down again with a sigh.

Yondu likewise lies down, turning the figurine in his hands. "Thanks," he whispers.

"You're welcome, son."

Yondu nearly drops the toy. _Son_. _Son?_  He glances furtively at Stakar, but the Captain's eyes are closed, the stuffed cat held closely against his heart.


	2. Day 2: The Best | The Worst

It hasn’t even been a year with Peter on board yet, but despite his small size and young age, the child gets into an awful lot of trouble on a Ravager ship. As a result, Yondu’s ears are tuned for the boy’s voice, whether he’s talking, shouting, crying or screaming.

So when a patrolling Yondu hears Peter shriek around the corner, he goes running.

He’s about to call his arrow out when he stops short. Through the doorway of one of the rec rooms, he sees Oblo and Kraglin are, with one of the anti-grav / heavy-grav mines set up on the floor. Peter is currently spinning high in the air, face red and grinning, hair sweaty.

“Ready?” Oblo asks with a laugh, one finger hovering over the heavy-grav button.

Peter nods. “Yeah!”

Oblo clicks the button, and Peter shrieks as he falls swiftly. Then the Ravager hits the anti-grav button again and Peter’s shriek is cut off abruptly, turning into a fit of giggles as he floats upward again.

Yondu’s lip quirks into a slight smile at the sound, but he forces it into a scowl as he stalks into the room. “Hey! The hell y’all doin’? That ain’t a toy, tha’s a weapon fer missions!”

Kraglin hurriedly pulls Peter out of the grav field and onto solid ground as Oblo powers the weapon down.

“Sorry sir,” Kraglin gulps, stepping forward. “It was my idea.”

Yondu’s eyes rove over Peter and the pair of young mechanics. “Y’all are in trouble. Kitchen duty fer the next week.”

“Hey! That’s not fair!” Peter cries, stamping a small foot. “We were just having fun!”

Yondu crouches down so he’s level with the boy’s eyes. “This is a Ravager ship. Ain’t some kind a’ flarkin’ amusement park. Now git, all three a’ ya!”

“You’re the worst,” Peter grumbles as he passes by.

Yondu cuffs him upside the head. “Don’t make me eatcha, boy!”

Peter picks up his pace and scurries out of the room behind Kraglin.

Later that week, Yondu is passing the hangar when he hears Peter’s telltale shriek again. He stops in the hall, eyes closing as he tries to compose himself. _Gods gimme strength._ He whirls on his heel and pushes through the hangar doors. “Dammit Quill, what kinda game are ya playin’ now?!”

He stops in mid-stride as he sees Kraglin laid out on the floor with a black eye; the lower half of his face is bloody – it looks like his nose may have been broken. One of the engineers, a heavy Badoon named Kheel, has a foot on his chest.

Retch, a fellow engineer, turns at Yondu’s approach, dropping what looks like Quill’s walk-thing to the floor. “Oh shit.”

Nearby, Taserface hesitantly lowers his hands from an open vent above his head. Yondu can just see Peter’s outline in the shadows.

The arrow is out in an instant, coming to rest against the furry folds of Kheel’s neck. The Ravager stiffens, holding up his hands, and moves away from Kraglin, pushed by the point of the arrow. Without warning, it slashes at his face – first one cheek and then the other, then does the same to Retch. From there, the arrow charges at Taserface, guiding him up against the wall. It stays within an inch of his chest, buzzing angrily.

“Back up!” Yondu barks, striding towards Kraglin’s still form.

The two Ravagers retreat several steps, pressing hands to their bloody faces, and don’t dare move any further. Yondu glances down at the mechanic, then crouches to press a couple fingers against his neck. Pulse is a little fast but it’s there, and Yondu can see his chest rising and falling. He eyes Kheel. “You do this?”

Kheel shakes his head vigorously, and points at Taserface.

“You slimy little-” Taserface begins, glaring at Kheel, but the Yaka arrow zips right before his eyes, causing him to choke off the rest of the sentence.

Yondu lifts his wristcom to his mouth. “Horuz. Tullk. Report to the hangar. Bring two sets a’ restraints.”

_“Aye, Cap.”_

Yondu slowly gets to his feet, and stalks towards Taserface. “What the hell do ya think yer doin’?” he asks, in a low dangerous voice.

Taserface swallows, still eyeing the arrow in front of his face. “We was just havin’ some fun.”

“Fun.” Yondu lets out a snort, then looks at the other Ravagers. They recoil at his murderous smile. “Fun!” He grabs Taserface’s jacket and pulls him down towards him; the arrow whines viciously in his ear. “This a Ravager ship! I ain’t payin’ ya to have fun! Yer supposed to be workin’, and here I find out ya not only laid out my best mechanic, but yer pickin’ on a small boy!” He takes Taserface’s head in one hand and brutally punches him the jaw with the other, so hard that the Ravager is forced to his knees.

“If ya weren’t such a good pilot and shot, if ya hadn’t come from the _Starhawk’s_ ranks, I woulda killed ya fer this.” Yondu spits. “Ya will take on yer team’s work alone, since they’ll be in the brig unable to help ya.”

“Yeh needed us, Cap’n?” Tullk asks as he and Horuz jog up.

Yondu points to Retch and Kheel. “Throw those two in the brig.” He leers down at Taserface. “Ya better be walkin’ the straight and narrow. One more instance like this,” he gestures to Kraglin and then to the vent, “And I’ll have no problems cuttin’ ya outta the ranks. Permanently. Ya got that?”

Taserface swallows. “Yes, Cap’n.”

“Git on yer damn feet and get outta my sight.”

The Ravager leaves the hangar in a hurry, closely tailed by the Yaka arrow.

Once they’re gone, Yondu lifts Quill’s walk-thing from the floor and approaches the vent. “Come on out, son.”

There’s some hollow banging and scuffling noises, and Peter’s little hands grip the edge of the vent, peering cautiously down. His face is dirty, and tear streaked. Yondu reaches up his arms, and Quill jumps into them, grabbing onto his duster.

“Ya hurt, boy?” he asks.

“No,” he answers with a sniffle.

“Good.” He starts to release him, but the boy still clings on.

“Thanks, Yondu,” he whispers. “You’re the best.”

Yondu is surprised for a moment and has an urge to pat Quill’s back in comfort, but instead he snorts and lowers him to the ground. “Yeah, yeah. Remember that the next time I need ya fer chores. C’mon now, help me get Krags to the Med Bay.”


	3. Day 3: Rising | Falling

“I need you with me, come on!”

“B-but I don’t-” Yondu stares from Martinex and down at the young Tullk in his arms. His narrow chest is rising and falling shallowly; his breaths rattle. The exposed portion of the boy’s neck against Yondu’s supporting hand is feels like he’d been sitting right up against the engines, though the skin itself is clammy.

“Please, Yondu! Stakar is at a council meeting with Charlie and I need someone I can _trust!”_

Yondu’s head snaps back up, looking into Martinex’s troubled, diamond-like eyes. “Okay. What do I gotta do?”

“Follow me.”

As they walk, Martinex is quickly but calmly doing what looks to Yondu like a hundred things at once. He’s conversing with the Navs to determine the best course and open the docking bay doors, and with a doctor somewhere on Xandar, and with the staff at Stakar’s location, and also with the Nova Corps, negotiating peaceful entry to one of Xandar’s best hospitals. He’s also got a tattered book, its pages interspersed with little paper markers in one hand, and a holopad in the other, which he’s typing on with one finger and his thumb.

All Yondu is doing is carrying Tullk, but it’s almost too much for him. He never dared get close enough to anyone for this exact reason.

No, not the contagion that Tullk is suffering from, because Yondu’s immune system is surprisingly resilient. _Freakishly_ resilient, Aleta had said.

No, he never dared get so close to anyone because he figured he’d just lose them eventually. He vaguely remembers that when he was a young slave, there’d been others like him, other Centaurians. But they, and others he’d shared a pen with always got sick, always fell victim to fever or plague or vicious infection of an open wound. The Kree always said the weak ones were always weeded out.

“Y’ain’t weak,” Yondu murmurs, holding the boy just a little closer against his chest. Tullk shivers in his arms, teeth chattering and eyes moving fretfully under their lids.

“What?” Martinex asks absently as they make their way down the wide steps to the docking bay’s main entrance.

“Nothin’.”

They board Martinex’s ship, the _Charon_ , and the First mate catapults up the ladder and into the pilot seat; Yondu can hear his fingers clacking wildly to enter coordinates.

Yondu lies Tullk down on the cot reserved for the wounded, making sure the boy’s head is comfortably supported by the cushion there. He feels the M-ship come to life and kneels down, bracing himself and pulling up the protective rail to prevent Tullk from rolling off the thin mattress.

But he should know that even in a state of emergency, Martinex is completely collected; the _Charon_ glides out of the hold of the _Starhawk_ with hardly any indication it’s moved at all.

A few more clicks and a faint chime lets Yondu know the autopilot has engaged, and sure enough, Martinex is back at his side in a moment. “Can’t stay here with you long,” he says. “Gotta go through a couple jumps, and we’re skirting Kree territory.”

Yondu tenses slightly but nods at Tullk. He lowers the protective rail, and sits gingerly on the edge of the cot, near the boy’s feet. “What do I do?”

Martinex scrambles around in the medical supply cabinet and places a crescent-shaped device on Tullk’s brow. He also hooks something about his wrist that inflates and deflates periodically. He points to the crescent object. “This measures his body temperature. You remember your numbers, right?”

Yondu nods. Numbers, surprisingly - and all the percentages, additions, subtractions and things of that nature that came with them – were surprisingly easy for him. Letters and words? Not so much.

“Good.” Martinex beckons to him, and they both lean over Tullk. The screen on the crescent device glows blue and flashes a number in Standard. “104.3,” Martinex reads. “If it reaches 105, tell me.”

“What if it goes _above_ 105?” Yondu asks.

The frightened look in Martinex’s eyes chills him to the heart. “Pray to the gods it doesn’t.” His wristcom beeps. “We’re approaching the first jump.” He hands Yondu the holopad he’d been typing into. “There’s a chart in here for Terrans’ temperature readings, as well as heart rate –” He points to a table of measurements, “And blood pressure. Got it out of a book on Terrans. Check this,” he says, lifting Tullk’s wrist, “from time to time. Make sure it doesn’t fall into the red zones on the chart. Good?”

“Yeah. Anythin’ else?”

“Just be there if he wakes up,” Martinex says. He rests a hand lightly on Yondu’s shoulder. “Thanks. Glad you’re here, Yondu.”

Yondu rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. Sure.”

Martinex ascends the ladder to the cockpit again, leaving him alone with Tullk.

Yondu doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he crosses his arms, and stares down at the boy, watching him and keeping tabs on his temperature.

Tullk is about ten years younger than he is, barely a teenager. Stakar had saved him from the Kree just a couple years before Yondu, when he intercepted a ship on its way to slave auction. Martinex told him that the experience of being abducted by the Kree and being enslaved by them had traumatized the child and blocked out parts of his memory, and that he couldn’t even remember his real name when they’d found him.

“Tha’s okay,” he murmurs, unfolding his arms to awkwardly pat Tullk’s foot. “I dunno my real name either.”

Tullk’s breathing hitches, his head shifting from side to side uneasily. _Must be havin’ a dream,_ Yondu thinks, and gets up from the cot to instead kneel by the boy’s side. The crescent-shaped device beeps softly, and he sees that Tullk’s temperature has risen to 104.7.

Yondu studies the boy’s distraught face, suddenly overcome with a feeling of protectiveness. _Wish I could take this fever away from ya, kid._

Tullk had been following Yondu since nearly his first on the _Starhawk,_ always interested in what he was doing, where he was going, where he’d come from and what he’d seen. It’d been annoying and even a little unsettling, but nothing he did, nothing he said, seemed to scare Tullk away.

“He looks up to you,” Charlie had said when Yondu had questioned the behavior.

“What? _Why?”_

“You’re strong. You’re different. You came from the Kree, like he did. Maybe he needs someone to connect to. Just let him be, he won’t do any harm. You might even like having him hang around you after a while.”

“Doubt it.”

The thermometer beeps again, shaking him from his reverie. 104.8.

Tentatively, Yondu reaches out to touch the boy’s shoulder. He clears his throat. “Now - now ya lissen to me now. Ya can’t let that fever go any higher, ya hear? It ain’t good fer ya. Marty’s gettin’ us to the doctor, and they’re gonna fix ya up, but ya gotta hold on ‘til then. Look, ya been real irritatin’, ya followin’ me around the ship everywheres, but I guess yer a pretty good kid as kids go, and I’ll make ya deal.” He leans in closer as the boy whimpers, hands clutching at the thin blanket underneath him. “Ya hold on ‘til we get to Xandar, ya beat this thing that’s got ya sick, and I’ll let ya follow me wherever ya want. I’ll even try to convince the Cap’n to let ya come with me on missions. How ‘bout that, huh? Deal?”

The thermometer blips, and Yondu looks at it fearfully. 104.9.

“Krugarr says I’d make a good Cap’n myself someday,” he continues quickly, brushing the boy’s sweaty hair from his brow. “Don’t know if that’ll ever happen, but if it does, I’ll let ya be on my crew. Then we’ll go on our own missions and steal our own shit. Whatcha think? Is it a deal?”

It beeps again, and Yondu bites his lip, leaning over to look at it. 104.5. 104.2. 104.

He lets out a shaky breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “Damn.”

“Yondu?” comes a faint voice.

He looks down into Tullk’s eyes. They’re weary and a little hazy, but they’re open. He grins down at him, letting out a shaky breath. “Hey, kid.”


	4. Day 4: Family | Enemy

Yondu bundles his duster into a ball and tosses it onto his bed. Most of the crew is planetside; he’d be with them under most circumstances, but he’s tired from a string of harrowing missions and he wants a little piece and quiet without having to worry about Quill for two minutes.

He gazes around his cabin and sighs. _What a flarkin’ mess._ There’s holopads, clothes, Beastie cans, liquor bottles, food trays and various other objects scattered everywhere. His desk looks especially trashed.

He rolls his eyes and then his sleeves, and digs in. After what feels like hours, the garbage has been incinerated, the trays and dishes are outside the door for someone else to collect and take to the kitchen, the laundry is in a basket, and there’s a tall stack of holopads waiting to be sorted on his newly clean desk.

He throws himself into his desk chair, and props his feet up on the table, activating the first holopad. Specs from a mission three months ago. He puts that in a pile, reminding himself to wipe it later. The next three holopads go into a pile he mentally notes as _to review._ The next holopad is an older model with a heavy frame.

Yondu pauses as he lifts it up, swallowing. He slowly takes his feet off the desk and straightens slightly in his chair, swiping a finger across the screen to activate it. Hesitantly, he enters a password to unlock the holopad, one that is about thirty characters long.

A holographic image appears, floating above the frame’s surface.

His throat tightens, and he clenches his jaw to the point that it aches. His own, much younger face smiles back at him, as do the faces of Stakar, Aleta, Martinex, Krugarr, Charlie, and Mainframe. Tears come unexpectedly, burning his eyes and blurring the picture. He squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head away. He doesn’t want to look at it anyhow. He doesn’t know why he opened the holopad up in the first place. He knew what was on it.

_You broke the code!_

_Dealing in kids!_

_You’re a traitor to the flame!_

_You betrayed your family!_

With a snarl, Yondu leaps from his chair and hurls the holopad as hard as he can against the opposite wall. It makes impact with a distinct _crack_ and clatters to the ground, the light flickering and then burning out completely.

“Ya said ya’d never give me up!” He screams, clenching his fists until the nails dig into his palms. “Ya said ya’d always come back fer me! Ya said-” His foot rolls over a stray liquor bottle and he loses balance, falling to his knees painfully.

He doesn’t bother getting up and lies there, slumped over, fists still clenched and pressed into the floor. The tears, sudden, hot, and angry, flow longer and harsher than he can ever remember. His throat, chest, eyes, jaw – it all aches, it all _hurts._ After a while he struggles up, gasping to regain breath as he drags himself to sit with his back against his bed.

His fingers tremble as he mops the tears from his cheeks and chin, prying off his damp neckerchief and flinging it aside. He sits there, staring at his knees and sniffling occasionally until his eyes stop stinging and are able to focus again. His arms rest at his sides and he brings them up, studying his hands. Jagged, vaguely circular scars ring his wrists; there are similar ones on his ankles and around his throat. Kree collars and shackles.

Stakar had taken those off.

_You’re free, boy._

He glances at the holopad where it lies against the wall, its frame cracked. _“Gods,”_ Yondu chokes, burying his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Stakar. I’m sorry….”

* * *

A knocking on his door wakes him.

He starts, lifting himself on one elbow as he looks around, his eyes swollen and crusty. He must have fallen asleep and fallen on his side at some point; he’s not even in his bed. He looks over at the wall, where the holopad still lies.

The knocking continues, and he gets to his feet, rubbing fingers into his eyelids. “Shit. Yeah, yeah! Shut up, I’m comin’.” He pulls open the door, blinking in the brighter light of the hallway, to see Kraglin standing there. The young mechanic smiles a little goofily at him; from his blue cheeks and nose, it looks like he’s been drinking. “Whatcha want, Krags?” he sighs.

The smile disappears from Kraglin’s face and he blinks, his eyes trying to focus. “Ya okay, Cap?”

Damn if the boy isn’t perceptive, even when he's drunk. “Was until ya woke me up.”

“Oh.” He fidgets and takes a step back from the door. “Sorry, sir.”

“Well I’m awake now, so whatcha want?” he repeats gruffly.

“Tullk n’ me n’ Horuz, we was gonna play some Mages and Swords and have a drink, sir.” He holds up a bottle of Aarkonian whiskey. “We were wondering if ya’d like to join us. I need a partner fer the game.”

Yondu takes a look back into his cabin. The dim light beckons him, inviting him to take Kraglin’s whiskey and drink himself into a stupor, alone, until he falls asleep. He looks back into his young First Mate’s hopeful, sympathetic eyes, and sighs. “A’ight, fine. I’m in. Jus’ a minute, boy.”

“Yessir!”

Yondu gets a fresh neckerchief from the drawer and bundles it around his throat.

Then he gingerly picks up the holopad from the floor and cradles it in one arm. He steps out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. “Krags,” he says, “Can ya fix this?”

“I reckon so, sir.”


	5. Day 5: Mythology | Modern

_Here he was, one of the most feared Ravager Captains of all time, and he was dead and caught in the bowels of hell. He was beaten, bruised and bloody, but still he fought. He had to. The polluted skeletal hands and razor-sharp claws of the demons tore at his body, shredding what was left of his skin. But still he fought. Rivers of fire ran in every direction, and noxious clouds of sulfur belched from the volcanic landscape, but despite this, it was cold. His feet threatened to fuse to the ground, shards of red ice creeping over his toes and up his legs. But still he fought, still he ran, up the mountain. Horrible shapeshifting monsters with gnashing teeth and empty eyes tried to bar his way, but still he fought, calling his arrow like blood-dipped lightning upon his enemies. Where his arrow didn’t fly, he dislocated jaws and bones with his fists, ripped out throats with his teeth, whatever it took. There was a twinkle of light, of life, there at the top of the mountain, and he had to reach it no matter what. He got closer and closer, blood running down his face. He refused to give in, even though the cold dared him to just let go – it would be easier to do so. The farther up the mountain he climbed, the more the ice tried to overtake him, the harder the beasts and demons tried to hold him back. But he was so near! Not far now! Just a few more-_

"That's not what happened!"

Nillgrac drops his hands, his moment of dramatic pause lost. "I was just gettin' to the best part!"

Jesper rolls his eyes and pops a fish crisp into his mouth. "That was the most ridiculous version of the Captain's story I've ever heard."

"What, ya got somethin' better, ya lil' shit?" Nillgrac snaps, swiping at him.

Jesper ducks. "It's better than yours!"

“Let’s hear it, then,” Rhian says, smirking as she throws back a sip of beer.

Jesper clears his throat and puts down his bag of fish crisps.

_There he was, Yondu Udonta, face to face with Ego the Living Planet. Though they had all fought valiantly, the Guardians of the Galaxy lay unconscious around him; he had to finish the fight alone. Always fearless, Udonta prepared to make his final stand._

_“I will let you go,” Ego told him. “Just leave Star-Lord to me and I won’t send you to hell where you belong.”_

_Yondu threw back his duster. “I got a better idea!” he yelled back. “How ‘bout I jus’ kill ya and take ya to hell with me!”_

_Outgunned, outmanned, and outsized, one might think Yondu Udonta didn’t have a prayer. But it was foolish to underestimate him. Summoning all his strength, Yondu uttered the loudest, shrillest whistle in the history of the galaxy. The Yaka Arrow burst into blue flames, dodging all of Ego’s assaults and drove itself through his heart. As Ego began to die, the planet crumbled. Yondu entrusted his loyal First Mate, Kraglin Obfonteri, with the Guardians and prepared to board his ship._

_But just then – Ego, with the last of his life, grabbed Yondu and dragged him into the exploding core. Though Yondu fought the entire way, there was nothing the Guardians or Kraglin could have done to stop it. Their Captain was dead. The gods mourned with them and sent angels to retrieve Yondu from the depths of hell. Once they found him, they looked kindly on his sacrifice and loyalty to the forces of good and offered him a place in the heavens, but he told them he’d rather go on being a Ravager in the living world, so they granted his wish._

“And _that’s_ how it happened!” Jesper says proudly, crossing his arms.

“You said _my_ story was ridiculous?!” Nillgrac cries, wheezing. “That was the sappiest piece of shit story ever told.”

Jesper’s cheeks flush slightly blue as he reaches for his bag of crisps. “Whatever. It was still better than yours.”

"What really happened, sir?" Rhian asks.

Jesper and Nillgrac turn to see their Captain in the doorway. Kraglin is seated on a chair just inside the doorway, his feet propped up on a table. It looks as though both of them have been there listening for some time. The First Mate glances up at Yondu with some amusement, and his Captain looks back with a smirk.

Then Yondu turns to the group, pauses as if to say something, then _winks_ \- and walks away without saying a word.


	6. Day 6: Feast | Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was having a little trouble with this prompt, and then I thought...why not take it literally? :P

Martinex isn’t sure how it started. It was probably an accident, someone bumped a crewmate’s elbow and spilled their soup, or flicked food off their fork into someone’s face. Regardless of how it began, the fact is that there’s now a full-blown food fight – no, food _war_ would be a better way to put it – involving a hundred Ravagers going on in the Mess.

He tried to call order, but it’s too loud. Too many screaming, yelling, laughing, hollering idiots for even the First Mate of the _Starhawk_ to successfully calm down. And he knows better than to fire a blaster shot to try and restore order – one stray shot and they’ll _actually_ have a war on their hands. So instead he seeks cover under one of the long tables. He needs shelter to call Stakar (and besides, no one understands how difficult it is to get creamed grain out of the nooks and crannies of a Plutonian’s crystal skin).

He dives under the nearest table, and nearly laughs as he sees Yondu and Tullk underneath it as well, huddled together. Martinex picks a string of something gooey out of one of Tullk’s dreadlocks, and the boy scratches at his head, annoyed.

“Why they wastin’ all this food?” Yondu growls, clutching his tray protectively.

“Because they’re idiots,” Marty answers dryly. “Did you see who started it?”

“Think it was Taserface or Horuz.”

 _“Horuz?_ He’s too straight edge for that. _”_

“Nah, it couldnae be Horuz,” Tullk agrees. “He likes rules too much.”

Yondu nods. “Yeah, yer right. It was the guy what looks like him. Lloht.”

“Lloht doesn’t look anything like Horuz.”

Yondu shrugs. “They move the same.”

Martinex shakes his head. “Whatever. Taserface is a hot head, it might have been him. I guess it doesn’t really matter who started it.” He flinches as something large smacks on top of their table, and they all look up.

A moment later, a Ravager jumps off the table and lands next to their table. He peers at them, and eyes Yondu’s tray. “Hey! Gimme some ammo!”

Yondu clutches his tray tighter. “Fuck off!”

The Ravager reaches for the tray anyway, and Yondu bares his teeth.

Martinex smacks the Ravager’s hand, and he yelps at contact with the hard, crystalline skin. “Bounce,” Martinex snarls at the Ravager, pointing back out at the Mess, “Or I’ll have you thrown in the brig for stealing a fellow crewman’s food.”

Wringing his hand, the Ravager quickly withdraws.

“Thanks,” Yondu grumbles.

“Yeah, just chill out a little, okay?” Martinex shakes his head and dials Stakar. “Captain. Cap, can you hear me? Stakar, dammit pick up.”

_“Marty.?”_

“Sir, I need you downstairs. There’s-“

_“Do you know what all that noise is I’m hearing?”_

Martinex grunts. “ _Yes I know what that noise is,_ I’m trying to tell you – someone started a food fight and it’s gone _postal_ down here!”

_“A WHAT!”_

“Food fight.”

_“Be right down.”_

“Thank you, sir.” He sighs and smiles at Yondu and Tullk. “This’ll be over soon and-” he’s interrupted by someone screaming:

_“I FOUND THE LEFTOVERS!”_

Martinex’s face falls and he scoots closer to his friends. “Or maybe not.”


	7. Day 7: Looking Forward | Looking Back

“Settlin’ in, boy?”

Jesper turns from his bunk at the gruff voice and stands up straight. “Captain!” He pounds his fist over his heart twice in salute. “Yes, sir, just finished unpacking, sir.”

Yondu chuckles and holds up a hand. “Easy, son. Don’t gotta be so formal.”

“Yes, sir.”

Yondu motions to his bunk. “Have a seat.”

Jesper slowly sits. “Have I done something wrong, sir?”

The Captain chuckles again. “No,” he replies, sitting with a grunt. “I heard ya got yer leathers.”

The boy smiles wide and pats his maroon leather-clad knees. “Yeah! I mean, yes sir.”

“Where’s yer jacket?”

Jesper hops up and retrieves the top of his uniform, which was hanging on a peg behind his bunk. He sets it in Yondu’s waiting hand.

“Ya know why I’m here?” Yondu asks, reaching into a pocket of his duster.

He shakes his head, bewildered. “No, sir.”

Out of the pocket, Yondu withdraws a patch of gold and black thread. It’s in the shape of a seven-tongued flame, with a depiction of an arrow within.

There’s a small, sharp intake of breath from Jesper, and Yondu looks into his eyes. They’re wide and shining. He smiles. “It’s tradition fer the Captain of a Ravager ship to deliver the patch to each new recruit and help ‘em sew it on if they need help. Yer one of my first new recruits, so here I am. Ya know how to sew, boy?”

His cheeks flush a slight blue. “I do, but I’m not very good, sir.”

Yondu laughs. “Tha’s a’ight. I wasn’t no good either when I first got mine.” His smile falters, then warms at the memory.

_“Ya know how to sew, boy?”_

_Yondu looks up into his Captain’s brown eyes and shrugs._

_Stakar raises an eyebrow. “Have ya ever stitched up a wound?”_

_Yondu nods. “Plenty a’ times.”_

_“Same concept. Here, I’ll get it started for ya.” He makes a knot in the thread and pushes the needle through the thick leather. “Tight, small stitches, and keep the leather smooth so it don’t bunch up. Watch.”_

_Yondu studies Stakar’s motions carefully as he brings the needle up and down through the leather, pulling the thread taut with each pass to secure it. “Now you try.”_

_Yondu’s first few stitches are big and clumsy, and they have to draw them out and start over. This happens a couple times, but Stakar is patient and sits with him until he’s finished._

_A strange, warm feeling of satisfaction spreads over Yondu as he pulls on the dark blue leathers and stares down at the flame on his shoulder. He traces it with a finger._

_“There. Now it’s official. Welcome to the Ravagers, Yondu.”_

“Sir?”

Yondu flinches slightly and finds himself looking into Jesper’s concerned face.

“Are you all right, sir?”

The Captain nods. “Yeah. Jus’ rememberin’ somethin’. Here,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’ll get the first few started for ya.”

Jesper sits close, leaning over to watch Yondu’s fingers and the pattern of secure, tight stitches. After he’s done three or four, he hands the jacket over to Jesper. The boy sticks a tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates moving the needle in and out of the leather.

Yondu sits quietly the entire time, watching him. He has flashbacks of helping Kraglin and Peter sew theirs on when they were even younger than Jesper, and smiles.

“Can you help me to tie it off?” Jesper asks timidly, handing him the needle.

“Yeah.” He sews back through a couple stitches and makes a strong knot. “A’ight, boy. Try that on fer size.”

Jesper stands and slips into the jacket. He doesn’t say anything for a couple minutes, just staring down at the patch on his shoulder. When he lifts his gaze again, there’s the slightest shine of tears in his eyes. “Thank you, Captain,” he whispers.

Yondu gets to his feet and claps him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the Ravagers, son.”


End file.
